


Never Gentle Always Patient

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Boot Worship, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Humiliation, M/M, Madeleine Era, Punish Me M. le Maire, Punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:19:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1261111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>He was calm and composed when he made his report on the grave mistake he had committed, although once or twice, a deep sigh escaped him. He did not spare himself despite the melancholy thought that this would be the last day, the last hour, that he would wear the uniform that had once been all he had aspired to. He omitted none of his many sins. His hurt pride and humiliation at how the magistrate had handled the case of the prostitute. His preposterous suspicions, fed by the hurt pride. The letter sent to the Prefecture, and the answer he had received.</em><br/><em>Silently, he held out the letter at last, a wordless entreaty to take the weight of the law from his shoulders that during the last hour had grown too weak to bear the weight they had been so long accustomed to. “You see, Monsieur. It must be done. Do with me as you please; it is just.”</em> </p><p>Punish me, Monsieur le Maire fic, because there is never enough of that. Javert has made a grave mistake. The Mayor thinks that he needs to learn control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a challenge among friends for the prompts "never flinch from duty," "not a crime" and "authority".

“Monsieur Mayor, you were severe with me the other day, and unjustly. Be so today, with justice.”

He was grave and still, standing before the mayor with his hands clasped behind his back, the weight of his crime heavy on his conscience. The letter from Paris had damned him. No. It had been his own pride that had damned him, he could not forget that. He had proven himself a lesser man, and it was but just that now he should reap the rewards for the crime he had committed against a superior. A man like him was not fit to represent the law.

“Monsieur, I deserve to be turned out for what I have done. It is just. You must punish me.”

There was a hint of laughter in the mayor's voice when he replied. “Come now, Inspector. This is nonsense.”

Javert breathed slowly and deeply. A deep sadness engulfed him, for the law was all he had ever known, and the uniform all he had ever aspired to. With that taken from him, his life would be dull and empty. A just punishment, exactly as he deserved, and he could not bear the thought of betraying the law a second time by wishing for leniency – but still, it was a thought that chilled him to the bottom of his self. And now the police spy would turn on himself, for he could live no more with the shame of his ignoble actions than a wolf could live among dogs.

He was calm and composed when he made his report on the grave mistake he had committed, although once or twice, a deep sigh escaped him. He did not spare himself despite the melancholy thought that this would be the last day, the last hour, that he would wear the uniform that had once been all he had aspired to. He omitted none of his many sins. His hurt pride and humiliation at how the magistrate had handled the case of the prostitute. His preposterous suspicions, fed by the hurt pride. The letter sent to the Prefecture, and the answer he had received.

Silently, he held out the letter at last, a wordless entreaty to take the weight of the law from his shoulders that during the last hour had grown too weak to bear the weight they had been so long accustomed to. “You see, Monsieur. It must be done. Do with me as you please; it is just.”

The mayor's amusement had vanished, and had Javert dared to raise his humbly lowered eyes, he might have been surprised by the mayor's sudden paleness. There was a long silence, only broken by the sound of paper being turned as the mayor read the letter.

“And you are going to Arras in that matter in a week or ten days?”

“It was to be sooner than that, Monsieur. The case was to be tried tomorrow, but Valjean escaped. As soon as he is found, I will be summoned to Arras again.”

“Ah.” The mayor returned the letter, then turned towards the window. “There is much to be done today, it is good you do not have to leave. Starting with the house of the woman Buseaupied–”

“Monsieur le Maire,” Javert said very respectfully, with great sadness in his voice at having to interrupt a superior whom he had already wronged so gravely. “You forget that I am to be dismissed. Turned out.”

“Inspector, I should have you promoted instead. You are a man of honour, and I esteem you.”

Javert stood unwavering, grave and sad. “Be just with me, Monsieur. I wronged you greatly. I have insulted authority in your person. I have committed a great crime. Monsieur le Maire, I do not desire that you should treat me kindly.”

Again there was a long silence while Javert waited with lowered eyes for all the severity of justice that was his due. At last, the mayor stepped closer. His voice was softer, and there was no hint of the earlier amusement left at all now.

“Yet if you have wronged me, to do what you desire would be no punishment, Javert.” Again the mayor fell silent, then walked until he stood behind Javert. “You think you have disgraced the uniform that you wear, Inspector, and that is true. But your crime was a crime against me. Your hurt pride, as you said, is a personal failing. Your penance will be to me. It will not be decided by the police, nor by a judge.”

“Yes, Monsieur,” Javert said simply, relief filling him when at last the mayor began to understand the severity of what he had done. “I give myself into your hands. Whatever punishment you decide will be just.”

Another silence. Javert waited, his heart heavy in his chest, although an unsettling warmth was starting to spread in his stomach at the realisation that now, at last, it would be done.

“Take off the uniform you disgraced.” The mayor's voice was taut, and Javert found that the thought of anger was welcome. A punishment born from anger would still be just, and easier to bear than the mayor's earlier talk of promotion.

“Take of your drawers as well. Bend over my desk.”

His breath stocked in his throat for a moment. Then his fingers mechanically set to work. A flush had risen to his face, but even so, the thought of disobedience was more abhorrent than the humiliation that was asked of him. He did as he was told, not thinking, denying the heat of the shame that made him want to shudder as he bared himself in all his abjectness, positioning himself over the mayor's desk like a child waiting for chastisement. The heat had turned into a burning fire now that ate at him like a sickness, a fever that had made his weak flesh rouse, and he wanted to curl in on himself with shame to hide his sin from the man he had wronged. But he had been ordered to bend over the desk, and so he remained, unmoving and sickened by the way he was pressed hot and hard against the dark wood.

His breath came in harsh pants as he waited. The sound was jarring to him, who had never been anything but proper in the presence of the mayor before. Now, though, bent over the mayor's desk in a position most undignified and improper, he could do nothing but listen to it, and flush with further shame when he thought of what Monsieur Madeleine must think of him. For he sounded like an animal, there was no doubt about it – like any man visiting the prostitutes down at the pier, where he had often hear the sounds when he made his rounds at night, the harsh grunts and pants that made him clench his jaw at he walked past what were perfectly legal transactions in the eye of the law.

Still, he remembered the sounds, and he could not help comparing them to his own now, his laboured breathing, the hitch when now, at last, the mayor's hand brushed his skin. His cock was hard and aching, pressing against the wood of the desk with exhilarating pain until Madeleine's hands pulled his hips back, denying him even the small satisfaction of that dull ache. He swallowed, then turned his head, biting down onto the linen of his sleeve in his embarrassment as he tried to somehow contain all that threatened to break apart inside him at that first touch.

Monsieur Madeleine drew a finger up his naked thigh, and a muffled groan escaped despite his clenched teeth.

“You enjoy this too much, Javert,” the mayor said. Javert wondered if even now, the mayor felt reluctance at the thought of the justice he had asked of him.“You asked me to be harsh with you, but now I wonder. Was this for selfish reasons?”

“Monsieur...” Javert groaned, his face burning as he tried to hide against his arm. The mayor's fingers curled around his hard cock as if in a warning – or maybe just to remind him of the humiliating position he was in, and Javert's lips parted for another undignified sound.

“You will answer when I ask a question, Inspector,” Madeleine ordered, and Javert panted another gasp of shocked, shamed need into his arm. He could feel the heat of the man pressed up against his body, the strong muscles which could hold him down easily if he were presumptuous enough to struggle. The thought of the mayor holding him down with all that incredible strength sent a new thrill of arousal through his shameful body, though the mere thought of resisting, wilfully disobeying the order of a superior made him pale.

“Monsieur, it is not selfish to ask you to uphold the law... I must be judged as severely as I judge others. I... I beg your forgiveness for... I do not mean to...” He could feel the sweat beading at his nape.

He broke off with another gasp when the mayor's hand cupped his testes, the strong, warm palm testing the weight of him, then curling around him to squeeze until the immoral pleasure of his touch turned into pain. Still he held his position, his thighs trembling, his eyes closed with mortification at how he must look to the mayor.

There was a long silence, only broken by the sound of his laboured breathing.

“I think your problem is lack of self-control, Inspector.” The mayor had not released him, and Javert felt himself grow even harder with shame, humiliation filling his stomach with a terrible heat. “I can see that now. It was not only that letter you sent, no. Clearly there is a deeper root that is the reason for your transgression.”

“Monsieur le Maire, I'm fully aware of the magnitude of my transgression,” Javert said fervently, turning his head so that his cheek rested against the cool, polished wood as he prayed voicelessly for anything but the mayor's too gentle touches. “Show me no mercy. Be harsh with me to be just.”

The mayor's fingers squeezed just a little more tightly, drawing another sound from him at the threat of pain. “When was the last time you touched yourself, Inspector?”

For a moment, he could not breathe as a larger wave of humiliation washed over him, and he choked out a soft sound against his arm. “Monsieur...” he implored, helpless, mortified both at the question and his disobedience despite the direct question of a superior.

“Answer, Inspector.” Madeleine’s hands were still on him, and he had never known anything like it, the terrible shame of exposure and the pleasure that was sharp like pain. It took all his willpower not to give in to the base animalistic need, to move his hips in search of friction instead of following the order to hold still for the mayor's inspection.

He swallowed thickly, feeling his shirt cling to his damp skin. “Two weeks ago, Monsieur.” He prayed that the mayor would not ask further questions. There had been an accident involving a carriage, and he had remembered the day he had watched the mayor do the impossible and free Fauchelevant from beneath a cart. He had tried not to think of it again in the two years that had passed, but sometimes, late at night, when sleep eluded him and the base nature of his body tempted his mind to stray, he had no choice but to give in to his body's urges and reach a damp, shameful release at his own touch.

He shuddered when Madeleine's hand slid over his hard cock once more, all thought lost for a moment as his body tensed. The mere thought of the mayor sullying his hand in such a way was abhorrent, but then, so was the thought of disobedience when he had already transgressed so egregiously.

“And how often would you say you usually touch yourself, Javert?”

Javert watched from half-closed eyes how his breath fogged the desk. “Monsieur,” he begged again, pain in his voice though he knew it would do no good, and then could not stop himself from offering the mayor the truth, as if in apology for withholding an answer at all, if even for a moment. “Every few weeks, Monsieur le Maire.” He hesitated for a long moment, shuddering at the way the mayor's hand felt against his cock, warm and calloused and rough from hard work. The man's hand never moved, never stroked or even tried to give pleasure, and that was only right, of course, he was here to do penitence, not to shame a magistrate with the baseness of his body which he could not of control. Another broken sound escaped as he tried to keep himself from moving. “More often late,” he offered, tears stinging his eyes as he prayed that the mayor would not ask for a reason. He would have to answer such a question, of course, and then he would be disgraced in truth, and the mayor would follow his suggestion and press charges against him after all, for which magistrate would wish to be sullied by an inferior's impure thoughts?

There was a thoughtful sound, and Madeleine's fingers released him at last. “Maybe I should beat you like a child. Were you beaten as a child, Javert?”

Javert tensed again. “Yes, Monsieur,” he murmured against the desk, forcing himself not to shift even though the humiliation made his fingers curl with the need to escape. “The guards beat me when I misbehaved. I learned that rules are not to be broken.”

There was a long silence, then the mayor took a step back, and Javert shuddered with inexplicable longing, wondering if now, he would hear the sound of a belt being undone...

“I shall not beat you then. That approach has been tried, and it failed to leave an impression on you. You are no child, Inspector – which makes your failings all that more disappointing.”

At the sound of that final word, Javert's stomach clenched, and sudden wetness welled up in his eyes. “Monsieur,” he forced out. “I beg you. Allow me to make amends. I deserve to be beaten. Not like a child, but like any criminal who has committed a crime well aware of the law, and the consequences. I deserve the lash, Monsieur.”

“And do you believe I keep a whip in my office, Javert? To discipline my workers? No. No, your disappointment was of a personal nature, Inspector. Not a crime to be judged by the law. You crave discipline, and I shall give it to you – but discipline more suited to your position, and to the nature of your transgression.”

Javert lowered his head again in submission. “Anything you demand of me, Monsieur le Maire,” he offered softly, his voice quavering a little as he imagined just what he might be asked to do to prove his penitence, sickened with shame at the rush of new heat that thought brought forth.

The mayor continued to talk calmly, slowly stepping around the desk until he faced Javert, who did not dare to raise his head. “As you have proven today, you have trouble to control your urges. What did you call your transgression? The result of pride, of an unwillingness to accept the rightness of the order given you by a superior? Very well then. I will give you another order I expect you to follow. This is how you shall make up for your insult to me, Javert. You will not touch yourself again. You are a man, not a child. I shall expect you to behave like a man of your position, Inspector. Control your urges. This seems to be difficult for you, but I expect you to find no release from now on.”

There was a moment's pause, then the sound of a chair being pulled back. When Javert dared to raise his eyes slightly, he found the mayor seated uncomfortably close, bent over a letter as if he had already forgotten the disgraced man he had humbled and questioned so intimately. “I suggest you pray instead when the urge overcomes you. You may dress and leave now, Inspector. I await your next report tomorrow.”

Javert kept his eyes lowered as he stood and dressed. His hands did not shake, though he fumbled when he tried to button his woollen uniform trousers, humiliation heavy in his stomach at the way he ached with painful need at the thought of the mayor watching his disgrace. He bowed very low. There was something satisfying about the shame that engulfed him. He deserved to be brought down so low, he thought, almost relishing the agonising chafe of wool against his disobedient flesh. It had not been what he had asked for, but certainly in this, too, the mayor was right. Monsieur Madeleine deserved a more personal satisfaction for his crime against him, for it had been a personal failing, and not a failing of the law. That the revenge the mayor exacted was personal, too, was only just.

#

Javert kept his eyes low as he reported on a prostitute arrested for a venereal disease. He had almost daily dealings with the wretched creatures, of course, and never before had he been embarrassed to give the mayor a report, despite the details of filth he had to list on a regular basis. But to talk of such details now, in this office, when he was sweating beneath his uniform, craven and fallen to inexplicable sin for he had hardened with shame before he had even entered the mayor's office, was becoming a sudden, unexpected torment. How could he list a gentleman's intimate accusations when only a day ago, he had pressed his cheek against the polished wood of the mayor's desk, Madeleine's impersonal touch taking stock of him as if he were little more than a horse he sought to purchase?

He had treated the whore he had arrested with more respect than the mayor had granted him. Something about the thought made him breathless, swallowing thickly against the shame of coming undone before the mayor's eyes.

“If that was all, Inspector, I believe it is time to move on.” The mayor was calm and preoccupied with his letters. He had barely looked up from his desk as Javert, flushed and ashamed at his body's obvious state, had delivered his report standing straight, arms clasped behind his back, showing no mercy for himself despite way this displayed the outline of his traitorous, sinful flesh for the mayor's perusal. And even though the shame cut hard, bringing with it the memory of every prostitute he had ever arrested, every day of clawing his way out of the filth his mother had born into, the bitter humiliation on his tongue gave him satisfaction. This was just. It was the mayor's right to exact this penance, and though Javert had shamed himself by suspecting a magistrate, there was a relief in the knowledge that at least in this, Monsieur Madeleine was as severe as his crime warranted.

“Please take off your uniform. This is not about your position as Inspector of the Police.”

“Yes, Monsieur.” Javert bowed slightly, though he knew the mayor was not watching. He tried not to think as he stripped, removing the heavy, navy wool of his uniform as if he were removing his armour in surrender to a victorious enemy, voluntarily releasing all that which made him just and right in the eyes of the law until he was revealed to the mayor in nothing but his human miserableness, small and shivering beneath the weight of his sin.

“Over my desk, Javert.” The mayor had stood silently and come to stand beside him, and at the gentle touch to the small of his back, Javert bent readily, light-headed at the calm assuredness of the mayor’s voice.

He was still clad in his drawers, for the mayor had not ordered him to remove them as well, and so this time there was a layer of thin, damp linen between the heat of his shameful arousal and the cold, polished wood of the man's desk. Javert shifted once, uncomfortable by how the edge of the desk pressed against his aching cock, then stopped with mortification when the mayor's hand came to rest on his back to hold him in place.

Madeleine’s fingers traced up a thigh again. Javert swallowed, his brow shining with perspiration when the strong hand once more sought out the shape of his arousal, feeling him through the dampness of his undergarments. He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought of soiling the magistrate's hands so, feeling a sudden jolt of shame and terrible excitement as he imagined the utter humiliation of spending himself like this, wondering if for that, at last, the mayor would beat him like a dog.

"Why, Javert," the mayor said softly. "This is a harder task I set you than I first suspected. I had always thought my Inspector of the police to be firm, unshakable, a man ruled by the law alone and not by his body's base urges."

"I... I beg your pardon, Monsieur," Javert forced himself to say, eyes still closed in misery.

Madeleine was silent for a moment, though he did not remove his hand, and Javert's breathing grew heavy as the mayor's fingers traced around the head of his cock through his damp drawers, the pressure too strong to be teasing, and not rough enough to fulfil his need. He thought of how the man's callouses would feel against the slick, sensitive skin and wanted to moan with wretched despair.

"Was it your talk of that prostitute you arrested, Javert? Many an Inspector has made use of the women of the town, I would think. It is not against the law, after all." The pressure of those strong fingers increased, and a soft, choked sound escaped Javert, though it was still not enough as he trembled with the need to hold still. "When was the last time you visited a prostitute, Javert?"

"Please, Monsieur, leave me my dignity!" The abject lowliness of his plea made him flush, and he thought that he might have fallen to his knees at the mayor's feet, to clasp his knee and beg to be beaten like he deserved, if the thought of disobedience had not roused an even greater shame in him even now.

"Did you not try to take my dignity when you sent that letter, Javert? Is it not just that you offer me your own in payment of that debt now?" The mayor's voice was kind despite the terrible thing he demanded, and Javert trembled again, because this was indeed just, and as severe a reprimand as his actions deserved.

He swallowed, trying to ignore the hot sting of tears in his eyes at the indignity of it, and the ache of his swollen cock that even now had grown even harder in the man's painful grasp despite what was demanded of him.

"Never, Monsieur le Maire." He could have given the mayor excuses. It was not right. It was a wretched, filthy thing. He could barely live on what little an Inspector was paid. He was the dog that hunted wolves, he did not lie with them, else they would lose their fear of him. Yet instead of explaining himself, he was silent, feeling his shame fill the moment as the mayor took in that answer.

"Any other woman, Javert?"

"No, Monsieur." He tried to imagine that he was simply giving the mayor his report, though his voice was shaking slightly, despite his best efforts to ignore the impropriety of the questions he was asked, and his shameful acquiescence to them. Even now, it was hard to surrender his dignity when he had clung to it for so long, but there was a terrible pleasure in imagining himself offering up the very last thing that remained of him in payment of his debt to the mayor. "Never," he repeated, quiet and defeated now, all pride gone from his voice. And that was right, too, for it had been his pride that had brought him so low.

The mayor's thumb brushed against his balls. "Did you touch yourself tonight?"

Javert thought of how he had tried to find rest in vain, damp with sweat beneath his blanket as he turned and tried to ignore the sinful desires that made him ache with need all night. He licked at his dry, cracked lips.

"No, Monsieur."

"But you wanted to?"

"Yes, Monsieur." He swallowed, staring unblinkingly at the dark wood of the desk when the mayor's palm cupped his balls once more.

"Why?"

His heartbeat echoed like thunder in his ears. Cold sweat broke out on his back. "Please, Monsieur..."

"I expect an answer, Inspector."

Javert closed his eyes in torment. He forced himself to speak, for he had never uttered a lie, and he had never disregarded an order. There was a faint feeling of satisfaction when he realized that he would indeed rather damn himself than abandon the principles that governed men like him.

"I thought of you beating me, Monsieur le Maire, as I had asked of you." His voice was very soft, but it was steady, and he awaited the mayor’s condemnation of him with quiet surrender.

Instead, the mayor remained pressed against him for a moment, strong and warm. He thought he felt the lightest touch to his hair when the man turned away, but it might have been nothing more than a strand stirred by the mayor's breath, or a draught of air.

“Dress, Inspector. I will await your report tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter of Punish Me idfic. One more to go!

Javert hesitated at the end of his report, a letter tightly clenched between his fingers. His brow gleamed with sweat, and he was uncomfortably aware of the weight of his flesh that had swollen and filled as he stood unflinchingly before the mayor to report once more on the case of the woman Buseaupied. Now the mayor would order him to strip and to bend over his table, treating him like the lowly creature of sin he had turned into while Javert would tremble in his shame and the awareness of his wretchedness as he answered the mayor's questions. For a week now, this was what had unfailingly happened every time he entered the mayor's office, and every time his body failed to obey his fevered prayers for obedience. 

He did not doubt that the same would happen today, and a desperate mood of melancholy filled him when he realized that if the mayor should ever desire him to stop, he might be asked not to return again. The mayor might have refused to have him turned out, but all the same, a magistrate could not desire a subordinate who had lain panting across his desk. His secrets had spilled out like ink from a broken bottle, and the mayor's calloused fingers had explored his flesh with terrible thoroughness, a simple, firm touch meant to humiliate and remind him of how he had offered his dignity to the mayor in payment for his crime. No, such a man could not serve a mayor in any capacity after his crimes were paid.

"Monsieur", Javert said at last, before the mayor could bid him to remove his uniform. "A letter came from Arras."

The mayor, who had just been about to stand, stopped. "Arras?" he asked carefully, then nodded. "Ah. The convict. You are summoned to the trial then?"

"No, Monsieur." Javert held out the letter, not daring to move from his position without the mayor's express order. "They found Valjean, but the convict tried to run. He stole a cart, he drove too fast, the way was muddy from the recent rains and there was a fallen tree behind a corner – in short, there was an accident and Valjean is dead, Monsieur. I will not need to travel. The case is closed at last, though of course my debt to you remains all the same."

He looked at the floor when the mayor stood and took the letter from his hand. "That is good," Madeleine said distractedly as he read. "I need you to visit the Rue Guibourg again tomorrow, your absence would have been an inconvenience."

"Monsieur," Javert said simply and bowed his head, a trace of warmth filling his heart at the thought that he was still needed, that he had not been turned out although he had certainly deserved it.

"It is good that this is over." Madeleine took a deep breath and released it in a sigh that seemed to the inspector a sound of profound sadness. He then placed the letter on his desk before he turned towards the window. "Take off your uniform, Inspector."

Javert obeyed quietly and arranged himself across the mayor's desk without the need for the man to give the order. He had shivered in his shame on this desk for a week, small and humble beneath the weight of his sin and Madeleine's impassive gaze. Today would simply be more of the same. Maybe by now the thought should have become easier to bear. Maybe by now he should be used to the sensation of the mayor's strong, rough hands mapping his disobedient flesh as if taking weight of his shortcomings for future judgement. 

But it was never easy. Every day he would tremble anew as if the man stripped his skin from him instead of his uniform, leaving him raw and without any defence for what little secrets a man like him harboured against the cold judgement of the mayor's glance. Every day anew he would fail to lie still beneath the mayor's hands like the penitent he should be; every day he would heat and rouse until his skin crawled with shame at having the mayor observe his wretched nature.

Madeleine sighed and took up a sheaf of papers. Javert tried to stay still, barely even daring to breathe so that he would not interrupt the mayor's thoughts as the man slowly walked back and forth. He must have interrupted him in some important decision, for it seemed that the mayor was so preoccupied that he had forgotten about the man stretched out across his desk as he paced in front of the window, the paper rustling as it was read and reread.

It appeared to Javert that a long time passed, although his discomfort might have made the minutes seem like hours. He tried to breathe evenly, watching the warmth of the air he exhaled fog the polished wood in a rhythm that mirrored the drum of his heartbeat. The edge of the desk pressed uncomfortably against his thighs, but he, who in the deep of the night still thought that he deserved true chastisement at the mayor's hands, certainly had no right to complain about such discomfort, and so he denied himself even the small motions that might have brought a momentary release from the ache of the unyielding wood.

The smell of the desk was familiar by now. It might have been simply the scent of wood and the polish used to keep it gleaming impressively, but to Javert, who had been meticulously stripped of all of his defences on this desk every day for a week, it was a scent that had come to signify authority, the mayor's calm, stern countenance, the humiliation of submitting to a touch he had never conceded another person before the mayor had taken that choice from him in payment. And with the scent came the taste of his own misery, still bitter in his mouth as he fought and lost the battle against his body's base urges. Even now, abandoned and forgotten by the mayor who had better things to do than to waste his time on disciplining a wretched sinner, his flesh was hot and hard beneath him, squeezed uncomfortably between his body and the desk. Sometimes he prayed that this day, the mayor would be so revolted by him that he would deal him what he deserved – the lash, the cane, he did not care. Maybe that was all it would take to make his body forget the sin that seemed to spread like poison through his veins, rendering him weak, and damning one who had never served anything but the law before, without regard for the temptation of woman. Maybe the true punishment he deserved at the hands of the mayor would rid him of this sinful affliction. 

There was the sound of a deep sigh, and the pacing ceased. Javert waited patiently, concentrating on the dull ache of his muscles forced into inactivity. He thought that the tedium of the wait might at last alleviate the heat that was still heavy between his legs, but every minute shift on the desk reminded him of how it felt to have the mayor touch him. He exhaled shakily at last, unable to keep from imagining, if even for a moment, the mayor's hand curling around him to stroke in the way he himself had sometimes given himself relief at night when he had been unable to will those urges away. The thought caused an almost physical pain, so that he bit his lip to swallow the sound that threatened to escape.

“Ah, Javert.” The mayor finally turned and came closer, his voice still distant, as if his mind was still taken up with more important matters. He did not apologize for the long wait, and Javert did not expect an explanation. He would have waited all day and night in such a position, if that had been the mayor's demand.

The sheaf of paper the mayor had been holding was placed down on the desk, and Javert saw that it had been the letter from Arras, looking worn now, as if someone had wrinkled it in his hand and then smoothed it out again. Javert wondered for a moment what had the mayor so preoccupied that he would pace with Javert's letter in his hand, but then struck the thought from his mind. A police spy was in no position to question authority. It was enough that once already he had dared just such a thing, and the pain of this crime still weighed heavily upon his soul. To suspect a superior a second time, to presume where it was the place of the inferior to follow where he was lead, that was a mistake he would never repeat.

The mayor's hand descended upon his back. It rested lightly on him, but Javert shuddered nevertheless as if it had been the lash. If the mayor felt his response, he did not show it.

“I have been wondering, Javert. You said you were presumptuous when you informed against me in Paris.”

“Yes, Monsieur,” he said quietly. The mayor’s hand still rested on his back, heavy like a sword that judged his sins. 

“The Prefecture told you it was madness. And of course it was.” The mayor laughed, as he had the first time, the rare sound brought forth by the magnitude of Javert's crime. Javert stared at the crumpled letter with dry eyes. Maybe today was indeed the day the mayor would exact a final payment of his dues. “But I wonder, Javert. You are a dutiful man. A good inspector. I have been pleased with your dedication to your duty. And you have given me your reason for your suspicions, but the more I think about it, the less sense I see in them.”

Javert forced himself to relax his fingers against the wood. “Monsieur, they were right. It was madness. There was no sense in my thought at all; a man like you, a magistrate, honoured and–”

The mayor interrupted him almost impatiently. “Yes, yes. And that is all well, Javert, but still I do not understand. If I were him, that is, your convict, that man...”

“Jean Valjean,” Javert supplied obediently.

“Yes, Valjean. If I were that Valjean, posing as a mayor – do you in truth believe that a convict would build industries and strive to lessen the misery for the unfortunates in this town? I am curious, Javert. You did not think that woman capable of what she claimed, that she was doing what she did to save her child's life. And yet you would believe someone who must certainly be a dangerous man, an escaped convict, to guide and guard the prosperity of Montreuil?”

Javert shifted uncomfortably, but stilled immediately when the pressure of the mayor's hand increased. “No, Monsieur. That is, I thought it was a disguise, that...” He hesitated for a moment, then forced himself to go on despite the flush that stained his neck. “That no one could be as good as you appeared, Monsieur. That a convict would want to be seen to give alms and go to mass and have a kind smile and a coin for every undeserving beggar. I beg your pardon, Monsieur. I told you that my crime was very grave. In my pride I thought myself in a position to suspect authority itself in your person.”

“Javert, those would be kind words, had you not presumed me to be incapable of being a simple man who does but the work God has given him.”

Javert stared at the letter again, then closed his eyes in shame as the horror of what he had done engulfed him once more. What had they thought in Paris when they opened his letter? To inform on a magistrate? Impossible! “Monsieur, I apologize,” he forced out, tense beneath the mayor's hand. “I beg you, any punishment you decide will be just.”

The mayor was silent for a long moment. His hand gripped Javert's shirt, betraying more emotion than he had shown on any previous day so far, and Javert trembled with almost relief at that first sign of the anger he knew so well his actions deserved.

“Javert, had that Valjean disguised himself and found himself at last in a position as your superior, he would not have used his power to spare a poor, fallen woman's child,” Madeleine murmured at last. His voice seemed strained with some terrible emotion. “What would a convict do in a position of power over one of those who hunt him? I tell you what such a man would have done. He would have used his power to toy with you. He would not have tried to reason with you over the fate of a lost woman. Your first day arriving in Montreuil, that Valjean would have bent you over his desk, to take his revenge and your dignity, Inspector.”

The mayor's hands pulled his hips back with unexpected force, then pushed his drawers down, leaving Javert exposed. “He would not have offered you kindness when you asked for punishment, Inspector. You would have received what you asked for, and more. And since that convict would have posed as your mayor, you would have taken what he gave you, and would have bowed to him, and he would have laughed at you, the police spy who would offer himself to a convict. That is what your Valjean would have done. Did I do any of that when you arrived in Montreuil, Inspector?”

“No, Monsieur.” Javert pressed his cheek against the cool wood, closing his eyes as he listened to the sound of his laboured breathing. The mayor's fingers were cruel when before they had been merely rough, gripping hard enough to bruise, and Javert thought he understood. The letter about the convict's escape and death must have shown the mayor just what, exactly, Javert had suspected him of. To think of the mayor, the honourable man given this position by the king himself, the religious man who was unfailingly kind to all, whose greatest sadness seemed to be that he could not rescue every single, damned woman of the town, and to believe him even for a moment capable of the acts the man had just listed... 

“It is unforgivable, Monsieur, I know that. I will submit to any punishment you deem appropriate,” he said at last. “Have me turned out after all; it is just. I do not deserve the uniform I wear.”

There was a soft sound. Frustration, Javert thought, his heart clenched with guilt still, though with his ear pressed against the desk, it sounded almost like a sob. But the mayor would not weep. It should be he, Javert, who should weep and ask for the punishment that was his due.

“You will not make that mistake again.” Madeleine's voice was strained, so that Javert suddenly thought of the snarl of a wolf and shivered. 

“Remember this, Javert. Because this is what the convict would have done.” There was the rustle of trousers being opened, the sound of the mayor spitting into his hand. Javert concentrated on the way his heart beat against the wood of the desk, fast and frightened, half-believing, half-fearing, and despite the terror and shame still unbearably hard.

A sound was torn from his throat at last when he was forced open by one of those thick, calloused fingers whose touch he had come to know so well. It was a wretched sound of misery, and he clamped down on it immediately, ashamed that he could not bear this silently. Madeleine added another finger, and he struggled to contain himself, breathing deeply, fearfully, staring at his shadow quavering on the polished wood as he threatened to break apart, opened and exposed by the man he had wronged. 

Madeleine did not speak, although the sound of his own breathing had grow loud and laboured. When he pulled free of him at last, Javert tensed, then squeezed his eyes shut against the pain as he felt himself forced to yield to something much larger, hot and hard and filling him remorselessly while his heart beat in his throat with thuds that made his entire body shake. And still, he thought that he would have been able to bear the pain if it had been just that. After all, this was no more than the mayor making use of his body in payment for a debt he had incurred in a transaction that was not so different than what happened at the piers. But this was no cold, formal business, and perhaps it was his greatest failing that he could not seem to make himself deliver his body in simple, impassioned payment of that debt.

Instead, he groaned, fingers curling against the desk as he forced himself to hold still, shuddering as the man who had peeled all layers and defences from his innermost self now ruthlessly took possession of him, forcing him open, not satisfied with simple surrender but bent on complete destruction of all Javert had once believed of himself. Heat flushed his skin at the incredible pressure, his mouth slack and open as he tried to keep in the sinful sounds that wanted to break free. He panted harshly, shuddering at the way the mayor's own loud, laboured breathing made him feel. The sounds the man made were obscene – gasps, pants, the rustling of clothes, the sound of their naked skin meeting. This was no different than any of the filthy acts he had so often been forced to observe before, and yet, instead of disgust, heat filled his body, and the terrible need for more.

He should have born it stoically for what this was, an act he owed the mayor, but the man who had forced him to yield his secrets and his dignity in payment for the sin of his pride now forced him to yield control of his body as well. He who had the patience to wait night and day for a suspect to make a move was overcome, vanquished, torn apart by a cruel, merciless intimacy he could not escape, and he bit down on his arm in tormented pleasure to keep in the sound of shock as he trembled with sudden, violent release. 

It did not take the mayor much longer, and Javert shuddered again at the heat that filled him, and the man's breathless sounds that sounded almost surprised. There was silence for a long moment then. Madeleine's hand came to rest awkwardly on his back, and Javert rested his cheek against the desk once more, flushing with embarrassment to feel the mayor inside him, now that it was over. He bit back a sound of discomfort as Madeleine pulled out, but still he did not move, though he exhaled with sudden unease as some of the mayor's warm release trickled down his thigh. He curled his fingers at the obscenity of it, imagining the mayor watching those lewd fluids slide down his skin, marking him like an animal, and still he did not dare to move.

Another pause, then Madeleine took a step back. “So soon you disobey my orders then,” he said, and there was no trace of what had happened in his voice. Javert flushed, the sound of his own breathing still harsh in his ears. The linen of his shirt stuck uncomfortably to his damp skin. There was more silence. 

“You've soiled my desk, Javert. At least have the decency to clean after yourself.”

Javert lowered his head at the reprimand, taking a deep breath as he tried to force his suddenly weak limbs into obedience. Then he dropped to his knees, very careful not to think as he pressed his mouth to the dark wood. Streaks of white gleamed wetly on the polished surface, and his own taste was bitter on his tongue as he licked slowly, carefully, meticulous even in this – especially in this, as he traced the lines of his come dripping down the desk's side with his tongue.

There was a soft, choked sound from behind him, and for a moment, reality threatened to overwhelm him. He pressed his face against the hard wood and the warm, wet stains he had left, not caring that he soiled his cheeks and hair. But the mayor did not say anything, nor did he move, and Javert did not dare to turn, afraid of what he would see on the mayor's face. A part of him was still trembling at the loss of control – a crime, it seemed to him, that was almost as dire as his initial betrayal of authority. For while that had been a crime against a magistrate, this was a crime against the authority of his mind, which had always ruled over his body and kept him dutiful and chaste and devoted to the law. 

He curled his fingers against his thigh, then licked at another long trail of his come, already cooling and starting to congeal. He felt the mayor shift behind him. There was the rustling of clothes, and he imagined Madeleine straightening himself until he was presentable again, and all of a sudden he could not bear the thought to be sent away again by the man he had wronged. He turned, stretching and curling his fingers helplessly as he tried to grasp for words, for meaning that was not there. He remained on his knees like the penitent he was, feeling wretched in his miserableness and shame as looked up at last, his eyes hot with sudden tears. He licked his lips again, raised a hand to pull on his hair in shame, then buried his face in it for a moment to hold back the sob that threatened to break free at how everything had been shattered. His face was damp and sticky with saliva and wet smears of his own come, and when he looked up again at last, tears had left additional trails of wetness on his cheeks.

“Monsieur,” he said, his voice close to breaking. He was breathing heavily as he looked at the mayor's softening shaft before him, gleaming wetly and obscene, not yet hidden away behind layers of wool once more. He shuddered, sickened by the need to breathe in his scent, to drown himself in his taste, feel him bitter and heavy on his tongue. He imagined licking at him as he had licked at the desk, and his lips parted and a groan broke free as he prayed that the mayor would demand of him what he could not offer. He curled his fingers until his nails bit into the skin of his thighs. The mayor did not speak, and then Javert forced himself to look up and meet his eyes, his heart racing in his chest as he knelt before him in all his lowliness, the man’s release warm like blood as it trickled down his thighs. His hair had been partly pulled from the ribbon and it stuck to his damp cheek, scratchy and stifling, and Javert almost flinched when Madeleine reached out to brush it away with a trembling hand.

Disgust rose in him once more as he thought of the mayor staining himself with his wretchedness. For the man to use him, that was no more than he deserved. But for the mayor to sully himself like this... With a choked sound of misery he reached out to grab the hand before the mayor could pull away. “Forgive me, Monsieur,” he said, his voice cracking with the tears he was trying to deny, licking at those strong, calloused fingers to clean them from the stain of his sin. There was something much like despair in the act, the worship of a hopeless man who knew that he did not deserve forgiveness and did not aspire to it, but could nevertheless not resist a chance to show his penitence in abject humility.

“I failed you, Monsieur le Maire.” He did not dare to raise his head from where it was bent over the mayor's hand, his own hands trembling as they clasped it lightly. “Punish me. Do with me what you want. I do not deserve your forgiveness. Beat me, Monsieur, that is all I ask of you.”

Madeleine stiffened. There was a terrible tension in him as he pulled his hand from Javert's grasp, and Javert remained before him on his knees, looking up with terrified surrender as he thought that even now, the mayor might be too merciful. “Monsieur, please,” he forced out, abandoning what remained of his dignity. The words seemed stuck in his throat, choking him, and he felt light-headed from the fear that even now, he would be denied. “I deserve it. Beat me. Have mercy, Monsieur...”

Madeleine made a terrible sound that seemed half a sob, half a cry of rage or some other, feral emotion. Javert looked up, unmoving, all words gone at last as he waited. The mayor was pale. His face was a grimace of an emotion Javert could not place. Never had he looked more like an animal – a wolf, starved, insane, Javert thought numbly, but that could not be, for he, Javert, would not kneel to the wolf. He wanted to close his eyes to escape the terrible image, but he denied himself. He deserved whatever rage he had unleashed, whatever payment the mayor would think to demand.

“Javert...” Madeleine, too, sounded as if he were unable to breathe. He raised a hand to his face. Javert noted that his fingers were trembling. For a long moment, Madeleine stood above him, face buried in his hand as he shuddered. Then, at last, a change came over him, and he straightened. There was a great emptiness in his eyes, and his voice was cold.

“Leave. I have seen all I can bear of you for a day. You...” He swallowed, and Javert felt the sickness in his stomach hit him like an unexpected kick. “You sicken me. Go. Leave.”

Quietly, Javert forced himself to stand and dress. He wiped at his face with the back of his hand to remove what remained of the smears of his own come, then pulled the ribbon free to tie his hair back once more, ashamed of how his fingers suddenly seemed too clumsy for the simple task. When he was finished, he bowed very deeply, wishing he had the courage to cast himself at the mayor's feet once more to kiss his hand, his feet. Yet he denied himself even the familiar pain of that desire, ruthlessly quenching any thoughts but the need to do as he had been told. He did not dare to raise his eyes to Madeleine's face again as he left, and the mayor remained silent, slumped in his chair until Javert closed the door behind him at last. Then he buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished at last - who would have thought that something I envisioned as a very much self-indulgent "Punish Me M. le Maire" thing of maybe 5k would turn into almost 14k? But of course Javert can never be punished enough. I'm sure he approves.
> 
> I have a Tumblr, btw, to which I am as new as to this fandom, but I love meta and fannish squee and writing and all things Les Mis despite not really knowing anyone in this fandom yet, so, feel free to come and say hello? [http://esteliel.tumblr.com](http://esteliel.tumblr.com/)

Javert stood straight, hands clutched loosely behind his back, his uniform neat and tidy, his boots polished to perfection. He looked at the wall above the mayor's head, not daring to speak until his presence had been acknowledged.

Madeleine kept him waiting a long time. When at last he was bidden to report, Javert took care to think only of the crimes that had been committed, prostitutes that had been reported, a house that had been broken into. He did not think of how he had trembled on his knees before the mayor in this very room only one day ago, for even now the memory was enough to threaten to break apart what little defences remained him in the presences of this man.

But he was of the police still, he had not been turned out, and even though he could not help but be aware of the fact that with that, the mayor had done a disservice to both of them, it was not his place to question a magistrate's decisions. So he spoke only of his duties, striving to be as irreproachable in this task as he had ever been, and when eventually he was finished, and the mayor merely nodded and returned his attention to a pile of letters, he stood lost, uncertain at last.

His hand rose to his throat after a moment to open the first button, and if his fingers trembled against the cold brass, he prayed that the mayor was too distracted by his letters to notice. 

At last Madeleine looked up when he had just begun to pull off his coat. “Javert!” he said, his tone colder than what Javert was used to, for everyone knew that the mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer was a good man, who showed kindness and patience even with the lowest police spy. Not so today, not for him, and Javert froze for a moment, coldness spreading through his limbs at the realization that Madeleine had sounded like finding Javert still in his office had been an unpleasant surprise.

“Monsieur,” he said uncertainly, quailing inwardly at the thought that he might find himself sent away like this, the words the mayor had left him with the preceding day the last words that would ever be spoken between them. How could he live to find himself judged for all eternity by a man who was his superior in every way without a chance even to prove the true depth of his willingness to make amends? “Shall I not... that is, do you not desire me...” He broke off, his cheeks flushing at the wrongness of his words. He swallowed against the shame and fear of repeated failure that constricted his throat. “Do you no longer demand a payment for my transgression?”

Even when he spoke the words he cursed himself for them. The mayor desired no punishment. The mayor would be overjoyed to feed him false kindness like the alms he gave to beggars, and the thought of that weighed like lead in his stomach. No, to force mercy down his throat after he had only ever desired to breathe the plain truths of justice would be to poison him.

Madeleine did not even look up from his letters at his hesitant question. “I have work to do.” The words were clipped and void of emotion, as tightly controlled as the man who had taken all of Javert's report with quiet attention and a noticeable, unusual lack of interest. 

“Monsieur,” Javert said quietly at the dismissal, and bowed very deeply, the shame in his stomach heavy like a stone to drag him down beneath the cold waves of despair. He did not know what he would do. The mayor would not turn him out, but all the same, he could not in good conscience continue to serve the man. If not for his assumptions, then for the ways in which he had disappointed Madeleine yesterday. No magistrate should have to be required to work with an inferior who roused disgust in him. 

Javert allowed his gaze to linger on Madeleine for one final moment, acknowledging to himself all the ways in which the mayor deserved his respect and obeisance, and forcing himself to face once more the magnitude of his failures. All his life he had known that justice was a narrow path to walk. But one misstep and he would return to the filth he had clawed his way out of. No, he had made his choice when he allowed his pride to rule him and questioned authority itself.

He looked at the coat he still held in his arms, then lifted it to dress himself once more, twice as embarrassed now to stand before the mayor in his shirtsleeves. And yet, before he had finished the motion, there was the creak of furniture, a sound that might have been a muffled cough, and then Madeleine's voice.

“Wait, Javert. Continue, please. Then come here.”

He did not quite know how to interpret the mayor's tone. With a lesser man, he might have ascribed shyness to the soft tremors, discomfort maybe. It was a quality he had often found when listening to the reports of false witnesses, or the excuses of the justly accused. Yet this was the mayor, a man who never erred or strayed. Javert wondered what such a tone might mean. Discomfort at his presence maybe, which had to remind Madeleine of his conduct yesterday. It was no wonder his presence would cause the man upset – yet he had been bid to remove his uniform, as so many times before, and so he obeyed. It was not his place to question the mayor's reasons. 

When he stood next to the mayor's chair robbed of his uniform and the comfort it brought, Madeleine did not even look at him, though the pen ceased its motion for a heartbeat. “Please. Wait,” Madeleine said. He gestured towards the floor, and Javert knelt at his feet, unthinking, unquestioning, content to simply think himself the dog at his master's feet for a welcome moment of quiet.

The hard floor made his knees ache, but he did not mind. The only sounds that filled the room was the soft scratching of the pen against paper, and their breathing. It was good, Javert thought, almost surprised by the tranquillity that came over him after a time. Maybe there would yet be a way for him to earn forgiveness for his transgressions of the past day, if not for the greater crime that came before.

Javert waited. He had never been a gentle man, but he had always been patient. His heartbeat was a steady, welcome companion, and he concentrated on the rhythm – faster than it should have been, but then, he forced himself to admit, it had always been difficult to stay calm with the mayor's attention on him. And with recent events, it had become near impossible to retain his focus.

His fingers twitched almost imperceptibly. His palms were damp, and he yearned to wipe them on the worn linen of his drawers that were all that remained him, as if to rid himself of the proof of his nerves might rid him of the feeling altogether. His flesh, disobedient as it had been this past week, pressed obscenely against the seams until he was forced to straighten his posture from discomfort.

At that motion, Madeleine shifted, and the sound of writing ceased. There was a long silence, and Javert flushed with the awareness of how he must look, fully erect and pressed against the confines of his undergarments in an embarrassing display of his weakness for the mayor's eyes. He did not dare to look down, to see what Madeleine had to see as he studied him. He did not dare to look up and meet the mayor's eyes, afraid of finding disgust, or worse, disappointment. Instead, he simply sat quietly, muscles taut, his heart trembling in his chest at the identical tension he could sense in the mayor.

He did not know where they could go from this. He had asked to be turned out, that had been dismissed. He had asked to be beaten, that too he had been denied. In his despair, he had offered the mayor his dignity, perhaps the only thing of worth he owned apart from his post, and had given himself into his hand completely, to hold him or destroy him with his knowledge however Madeleine pleased. The mayor had not spared him, that was true – but he had not wanted to be spared. As inwardly, he writhed beneath the indignity of the mayor's questions and his touch, he was yet ever aware of how deserving he was of such treatment. This was the lash he had begged for, though it was granted in a different manner; it was a scourge taken to his soul, to his conscience, and just this once the mayor was merciful enough to be cruel to ease his need.

He forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply. His hands rested on his thighs, the fingers relaxed although the muscles beneath were tense. He imagined he could feel the heat of his aching prick. He would not have to move his hand far to touch himself, to try and ease the need – but the thought was mortifying. To show such disobedience right here at the mayor's feet was unthinkable. Better to kneel and wait and suffer all day and all night if Madeleine would think to deny him and leave him here to atone for his crimes.

He lowered his head even further, shamed and thrilled at once, and sickened by how the latter emotion betrayed his weakness. No, even if the mayor would not dismiss him from his post, such urges could not be tolerated in a subordinate.

The mayor breathed in deeply. It was almost the sound of a sigh, but of course, there was no reason for Madeleine to feel sadness. Disappointment at the conduct of his inspector then, for that was only to be expected, Javert thought and told himself to be firm. Today he would not disappoint.

Another long moment passed. He did not fidget, though he was aware of how every single, thunderous heartbeat echoed through him like the tolling of a great bell. He imagined himself hollow, his body but a husk of bronze, heavy and brittle and responding to every touch with tremulous sound. Another sigh from the mayor, and then at last he felt his hand in his hair. Javert did not move, though he felt the bronze of his body heat, brittle to the point where he could not draw breath from fear that the smallest movement would make him shatter. 

The mayor's hand rested on his head. Such a small, innocent gesture, and yet Javert felt his resolve melt away before the weight of it. Another moment passed, and then the strong fingers slipped further back, drawing the ribbon free until his hair was released from its orderly queue.

A choked sound escaped him when his hair fanned out across his shoulders. He flushed – he, who had already given himself to far greater depravity in payment of his debts. But the mayor's hand lingered in his hair, and Javert shuddered at how deep that small gentleness cut. Long minutes passed like this in silence, then those gentle fingers tightened a little and drew him to move forward, until he came the kneel between the mayor's legs instead. Javert kept his mind carefully blank, although he could not help but look at where the mayor's cock pressed indecently against the tight cut of his trousers. The wool was very fine, but even so, there between his legs the cloth strained, barely able to constrain the swollen flesh.

Javert flushed at the sight, his skin damp with sweat. Every heartbeat seem to shudder through him with enough force that he wondered whether the mayor could hear it. There was another sound, as if the mayor wanted to speak, but could find no words, but Javert needed no words when the hands in his hair tightened.

His place was to serve, he told himself as he leaned forward, mouthing hungrily, carefully along the swollen shape, wetting the wool as he breathed against it. He owed the mayor his obedience. The mayor demanded a task be done; he completed that task. It was not his place to question when the mayor had a need of him.

He felt an answering ache between his own legs as he sucked slowly at the wool covering the head of the mayor's cock, the fabric muffling the needy, breathless sound that escaped at the first hint of a taste. He thought of it then: that proud flesh on his tongue, lewd and thick with blood, Madeleine's taste in his mouth like the musk of rutting animals, drawing on it, breathing his scent and his taste until he drowned in it.

It made his own prick ache with an even keener need, and he did not wait for a command. Instead he opened the mayor's trousers with trembling fingers, careful to keep his eyes lowered, focusing on the task he had been appointed to. A lowly task, maybe, but what was he but a lowly servant?

When the mayor’s cock sprang free, large and impressive and hot like a brand against his cheek, Madeleine made a soft, choked sound.

“Javert...” 

The word was tremulous and hesitant, fraught with something Javert might have recognized for misgivings if he had not known with complete certainty that this moment was not the place for misgivings, especially not from the mayor. Not when the mayor had at last granted him a way to prove the sincerity of his remorse. It jarred him, the way his name was almost a question when it was not the mayor’s place to question but to demand, and Javert thought with despair of the mayor offering him mercy even now, offering a choice that was neither needed nor wanted. Instead he leaned forward, breathing in again to fill his senses with the scent of him, then with sudden determination pressed his tongue against Madeleine's cock. He shivered once at the strange heat, and then he did not think, for thought was not required when a task was given him by a superior. He tasted him slowly, drawing his tongue up and down the heavy length until that was not enough anymore, and he licked at the head again, exhaling with shock at the wetness that already slickened the skin. More of the slickness seeped onto his tongue, and he drew him into his mouth, trying to breathe around him as the taste spread and filled him. A soft sound escaped him, but he continued to lick calmly, coaxing forth more of that bitterness until the mayor's fingers tightened in his hair. Madeleine did nothing more. He said no word, did not try to pull him closer, but that pressure of fingers against his skull was enough for Javert to close his eyes, losing himself in the certitude that now, at last, he was being used as he deserved to be used, that he would make up for whatever crimes he had committed the preceding day, and that if his own cock was as hot as the brand on his tongue, the mayor did not need to see it.

Javert was not skilled at apologies, but he did the best he could. His mouth, which had never been gentle, nevertheless seemed adequate at this task, if he judged himself by the way Madeleine's breathing sped up, the soft, choked moans that escaped every now and then. There was a certain pleasure in being useful, despite the base nature of the task, but of course, in the end one such as he deserved no other position. This suited a man just fine to remind him of where he stood. Carefully, he drew on the mayor's cock once more, reminding himself that this was penance while his own flesh throbbed with a relentless ache

When the salt of the mayor's release flooded his throat, he drew back, looking up at Madeleine with breathless need as strings of his semen hit his cheek, his chest. For a moment he was suffocating, his chest tight and aching with something that seemed far beyond desire. The mayor's breath came as fast as his own, and then a hand cupped his cheek, fingers smearing the man's come over his face, slick and hot as they rubbed his scent into his skin and then pushed between his lips. Javert sucked on the thick, strong fingers, curling his tongue around them like he had curled it around the man's prick, tasting the salt and the bitterness of his sweat and his semen and the dust of the factory, closing his eyes against what should make him shudder with shame and instead–

A broken moan escaped around the mayor's fingers when Madeleine's other hand reached down, cupping his disobedient flesh. He flushed at the way he pressed into the touch, instinctive, overcome by animalistic need. Madeleine's touch was gentle. Even now, a part of Javert ached for the cruelty of the preceding day, the one time he had seen the saintly mayor act in a way that was not perfectly controlled, perfectly kind and gentle. But who was he to make demands? Javert remembered his plea to be beaten. It had seemed like the appropriate response to the magnitude of his crime, but now even that desire was a distant, vague shape that made as little or as much sense as the need to kneel at this man's feet while calloused fingers explored his aching prick with such gentle thoroughness. He would plead, he though dimly, if only he knew what to plead for. Mercy, perhaps, but whether that would be for the roughness he desired or for an end to the torturous touches altogether he could not say.

Then the fingers were pulled from his mouth, and his drawers were pushed down, far enough so that his cock sprang free, and when the mayor touched him again he choked on another moan. He could still taste Madeleine on his tongue – was still facing his prick, softening now and wet with his own spit, and the memory of the man making use of his body overcame him with such force that he paled with shame, and then he tensed and gasped, broken by pleasure and the immensity of the wrongness he could not help but yearn for even now.

His pants for breath were harsh little sounds that broke the quiet of the room. He knelt between the mayor's legs, head bowed, wrung out and wrecked with a pleasure that should not be his for the many ways in which he had transgressed. But the mayor's hand was in his hair, and the weight of that gentle touch alone was almost enough to make him cry. How could the man offer kindness even now? He bent lower, trying to escape mercy through lowliness, even now hoping with a despairing sort of need that Madeleine would cease whatever it was that made him think that his transgressions could be forgiven. Authority could not forgive, or it would cease to be authority.

The release that had been torn from him with such a terrifyingly gentle touch had stained the wooden floor. There were traces of it even on the mayor's boots, and he bowed lower, bowing as low as it was possible for a man, to escape from a mercy that cut deeper than the indignity of even the lowest act. 

He did not hesitate when he pressed his tongue to the first stain, licking slowly and carefully, methodical even in this, the taste of leather and the bitterness of his own release filling his mouth. As everything the mayor owned, the boots were respectable, of good quality, though shiny and comfortable from long use. The black leather gleamed wetly where he had cleaned off the spill of come with his tongue, and he pressed his tongue to the leather once more, cleaning it with long, careful swipes. 

The mayor did not move, though there was the sound of breath suddenly drawn in.

“Javert!” he said, his voice soft with shock. “Javert, there is no need... Good God, man, don't you–”

His voice broke off when Javert bent towards the other boot. There were even less stains of his release, but Javert lingered even longer, feeling a certain rightness when he pressed his mouth reverently to the leather. His tongue swiped languidly at the drops of cooling semen that remained, cleaning away dust as well until the leather was shiny with his spit. He wondered what might happen if someone were to enter the mayor's office now. What would they think, to see Montreuil's Inspector of the Police on his knees in front of the mayor? A part of him tensed with something that seemed in equal parts pleasure and shame as he imagined Madeleine explaining that the obstinate Inspector of Montreuil was being taught his place, calm and secure in his authority while Javert licked his boots like the lowliest of servants. He paused at the thought, shakily exhaling against the leather. The thought was so compelling that he did not know what sickened him more, the idea of it happening in truth or the heat that unfurled inside him as he imagined it.

He was pulled up then at last, coming face to face with Madeleine, who was pale and wide-eyed and did not speak for a long moment before he shook his head with a despairing laugh and released him.

“Javert, you... you break me, I didn't...” The mayor covered his face with a hand for a moment. “I never asked...” His voice trailed off, and Javert kept silent, though he noted that the mayor seemed as out of breath as he was. At last, a hand came to cup his face, and he tried to duck away instinctively like a horse shying from the whip before he remembered himself and let the mayor touch him as he pleased. He trembled slightly, unsettled by the gentleness that still felt too much like mercy to be born easily. “Javert....”

The mayor's voice was close to breaking, and he looked like a man rescued from some torment. Javert did not understand. 

“You turn me into...” The mayor closed his eyes. There was sweat on his brow, and all of a sudden he seemed weary, and older than Javert had ever seen him. “Yesterday. I treated you like that convict would have. And you... you let me, Javert, you shouldn't have...” He broke off in anguish, and Javert, uncertain, took hold of his hand, pressed a kiss to his fingers in a helpless gesture of submission and respect as one might show to a king, to a priest.

“Monsieur, I asked you to beat me,” he said, and the mayor flinched, growing even paler. Javert thought he understood at last. “My plea sickened you, and I beg for your forgiveness. It was never my right to demand a punishment that was for you to decide on. You did no wrong, Monsieur le Maire!” He swallowed when the mayor drew back with even greater horror on his face, plodding on relentlessly despite the growing fear that even now, the mayor would offer mercy that would poison all that he had been granted.

“I will not ask again. I deserved punishment; you gave it to me. All you did was just. And when I asked for more than you deemed suitable to give, it was but a sign of my own coarseness, and no stain upon your sense of what is right, Monsieur. You have done no wrong. I beg you, do not torment me with apologies or talk of forgiveness now! I am a man of the law, a simple man. I know what is right, what is just, and what is against the law. I know nothing of mercy, or God's law, and I did not transgress against God but against authority in your person. No, Monsieur, justice was done by your hands, and if it was not served in the way I asked, it was nevertheless served, and justly.”

Madeleine swallowed. His fingers tightened a little against Javert's cheek. Javert did not move, and he did not lower his eyes. He could not allow the mayor, a godly man, to feel guilt over something that had been, after all, well earned through his own transgressions. Neither could he allow the man to offer forgiveness and mercy as a false balm for wounds he had earned honourably for a crime that had not been. 

Madeleine's thumb swiped at his bottom lip, and the man's eyes darkened for a moment, a soft sound escaping him. Javert licked at his lip, feeling it still slick with saliva and the man's semen. He flushed a little when he realized why the mayor was staring, though he kept motionless despite his mortification, allowing the mayor to have his fill of the sight he must be. At last, the mayor's hand was buried in his hair once more, gently pulling upward, and he rose obediently to his knees. 

“No more talk of punishment, Javert,” Madeleine murmured. It seemed almost a plea, but Javert thought that could be forgiven when the mayor's lips brushed against his own. The kiss was chaste, but that was good. He felt vaguely ashamed of how even now the bitterness of Madeleine’s semen coated his tongue. “You don't know what you do to me with your... How you turn me into...” Madeleine fell silent, then shook his head. Javert waited patiently for the mayor to gather his thoughts. At last he was released, and he rose, standing before the mayor once more wearing nothing but his shirt, patient to bear that humiliation for as long as the mayor saw fit.

“But no more talk of that, Inspector.” The mayor straightened, a change coming over him as well as he turned his gaze from his inspector to the forgotten letters on his table. “I have kept you too long already.” 

Javert bowed very deeply at the dismissal. 

“I would hear your report again tomorrow.” The mayor hesitated, playing with one of the unopened letters. “I do appreciate your service. It would be a great inconvenience to me to lose it. If you are worried about the service you render, then...” He ceased speaking for a moment to wet his lip. “I am certain that measures can be found to ensure discipline, Inspector. I regard your conduct as a …. personal responsibility.”

The letter was put down again, and Madeleine's gaze fell on him once more. There was a familiar sadness, but also a frankness Javert had not seen before. He understood what the mayor offered, or he thought he did, and he swallowed. “It is an honour to serve you, Monsieur le Maire,” he said, his voice rough. “I thank you for your care for my conduct.”

He bowed anew, and then he put on his uniform once more while the mayor paid full attention to his letters. As he closed the door, Javert wondered if this, too, was the mayor's mercy. He turned that question around in his mind for a moment, and then he realized that at last, it did not even matter, since, for the first time since the letter from Arras had arrived, he did not feel the weight of guilt crush shoulders that had only ever born the weight of the law. 

When the door closed, Madeleine took a crumpled letter from beneath a pile of papers and once more read the words that declared Valjean dead. He did not weep, though he remained bent over the letter for a long time, and when he returned to his work at last, it was with a great weariness.


End file.
